The Moment
by storylover18
Summary: Beginning with The Moment That Changed Everything. Set while Sherlock is living with Molly post-Reichenbach. As this is not something I normally write, please heed the rating (sex and language mostly). Yes, there is sex but no, this is not Sherlolly. Reactions will be very in character. Vague review to avoid spoilers. Please review - your support means the world to me!
1. That Changed Everything

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi everyone! Another story idea, yay! I wonder how long it will take me to finish this one now that school's back in. I think Christmas is a realistic goal, all things considered. I suppose I need to do a major warning at this point. THIS IS RATED WHAT IT IS FOR A REASON. It's nothing like what I've normally written … consider this meant for adults. See the end for the second major warning … okay, enough of the serious stuff. I really hope you enjoy something different from me! **

Molly Hooper stumbled up the stairs to her fourth floor flat and struggled to fit the key into the lock. After much shuffling and scraping of metal against metal, the door swung open and Molly blinked in surprise.

"Sherlock," she slurred happily, dropping her keys into her handbag. "Good to see you."

She punched him on the shoulder as she walked by, gaily dropping her numerous bags and coat onto the floor just inside the doorway. Sherlock raised a solitary eyebrow as he closed the door.

"Molly … "

"Is there any food?" Molly asked, running into the wall on her way to the kitchen. "I'm starving."

Sherlock sniffed and detected alcohol … vodka and cranberry, he thought it was. More vodka than cranberry. He rolled his eyes as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Molly, you're drunk."

"Damn right," she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. "I had forgotten about this. Drinks are on me!"

Sherlock stepped forward and pulled the wine bottle from her hands, a scowl on his face. He put the bottle firmly on the counter.

"You do not need more wine," Sherlock told her bluntly. "Go to bed."

"Nope," Molly shook her head in an exaggerated manner. "Not till you've had a drink with me."

"I am not going to drink."

"Yes you are," Molly said, stepping forward and using her fingers to climb up Sherlock's chest. "Come on, it will be fun."

"Molly," Sherlock started but was interrupted.

"Don't try to talk me out of it," Molly said. "I've had a rubbish day and it's just depressing to drink alone."

She went to the cupboard and pulled out two plastic tumblers.

"I know they're not wine glasses," she said matter-of-factly, uncorking the bottle with a loud _pop_ that sent the cork into the ceiling, where it left a mark before falling to the floor. Molly glanced up.

"Damn. I know they're not wine glasses," she repeated, her dented ceiling forgotten. "But they're bigger."

She poured two generous servings of wine and held one out to Sherlock. For a reason he did not know – nor would ever understand, looking back – he took the tumbler and Molly held it up.

"To … to … to you." She finished her toast before taking several gulps of the drink. Sherlock sniffed the wine and found it to be quite a lovely bouquet, despite the plastic cup. He took a sip and found it was good wine, not the cheap stuff he'd been expecting.

He glanced past Molly at the bottle. It was an expensive bottle, running upwards of five hundred pounds.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, taking another gulp.

"Gift," Molly said, topping up her glass. "Drink up, there's plenty."

Sherlock sighed and while he detested drunk people, he wasn't going to let such a good drink go to waste, an action he would soon come to regret.

* * *

An hour later, the wine bottle was empty and a drunken Sherlock and a very drunken Molly found themselves in Molly's bed.

"I'm normally not like this," Sherlock mumbled as he showered Molly's neck with kisses, his hands tangled in her hair.

"Normally not like what?" Molly mumbled in response, her lips behind Sherlock's ear.

"This," he said. "I take things slow."

Molly pulled away and looked down at Sherlock.

"You still have your pants on," she said, an eyebrow raised. "That's not fast."

Sherlock grinned up at her boyishly and Molly grinned back.

"Let me help you with that," she said, her hand reaching down.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock woke with a start. His head was aching mercilessly and he sat up quickly, unfamiliar with the setting.

This was Molly's room, not the sitting room and this was Molly's bed, not the pull-out sofa bed. He realized he was naked and for the first time in his life, he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Sherlock glanced over at Molly and saw that she, too, was not wearing anything. Or, at least, she wasn't wearing a top and Sherlock assumed she wasn't wearing any bottoms either.

What had happened last night? He wondered, seeing his trousers and pants tossed across the room. He had no idea where his shirt was.

Molly had come home drunk, he remembered that, and he remembered the bottle of wine … how much had he had to drink?

No, this did not happen. Sherlock had not gotten drunk and ended up in bed with Molly. They hadn't … they hadn't had sex, had they? No, they couldn't have. He'd remember that … wouldn't he? It would've been his first time; he thought he'd remember it.

He glanced at the clock – it was only quarter to six – and then back at Molly. He imagined she would have one impressive hangover, if his headache was any indication.

Sherlock felt incredibly uncomfortable and quickly left Molly's bedroom and took the coldest shower he could stand to try and sober up. Evidence of their night abounded in the flat, he discovered as he walked into the sitting room.

The wine bottle, of course, but pillows were tossed about and a vase lay broken in the corner. One of the pillows was split, feathers littering the carpet. Had they had a pillow fight?

Sherlock went into the kitchen for some paracetamol and strong, black coffee.

He'd worry about cleaning up later.

* * *

By the time Molly woke up two hours later, the flat was clean and Sherlock was out. The young pathologist sat up and groaned. Her head, too, was pounding and the room was bright despite the curtains being drawn and it being a rainy morning.

She realized more quickly than Sherlock had that she was naked but she didn't realize Sherlock had been in her bed until she looked over and saw his discarded trousers and bottoms.

"Oh no." She said the words aloud, though she didn't realize they had passed her lips. Her hands found their way to her mouth. They hadn't … she hadn't … not with Sherlock.

Despite the fact that Molly had been blitzed last night – she knew that much, even if she couldn't remember it – she had a sinking suspicion that yes, she had lured Sherlock Holmes into her bed and had sex with him.

"Sherlock?" she called hesitantly as she stepped into the sitting room, her dressing gown tied tightly around her. She was relieved to find Sherlock gone and she read the note he'd taped to the back of the door.

_Molly,_

_Out. Be back tonight. _

_SH. _

Good. This was good. Molly crumpled the note and tossed it into the bin as she went to the kitchen for some paracetamol and water. It was a weekend and she wasn't scheduled to work, which suited her just fine. Once her head stopped pounding, she planned on taking a shower, changing the sheets, and erasing any signs of last night from the flat, starting with Sherlock's trousers in her bedroom.

**I told you it was different. **

**Okay, second major warning. I know the fact that Molly and Sherlock had sex will deter a lot of you, as you can imagine where this will lead. I'd just like to ask you not to give up on it too soon. It will NOT be fluffy, I promise and it will be VERY in character for both Molly and Sherlock. **

**Your support (i.e. review) is really appreciated, especially as this is a bit out of my comfort zone. Thanks! **


	2. They Realized (Part I)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi, everyone! Two chapters in two days … I must say that I'm excited about this story, though less excited that posting will have to be dictated by my school/work load. Anyways, here's the next chapter … I know it's short but it's all I could manage for now. I hope to have more soon! As always, thank you for your support. **

Molly, who was not feeling particularly well after her shower and cleaning her flat, was curled up on her bed with a book that she wasn't actually reading when the door opened.

"Sherlock, is that you?" she called hesitantly. She sensed the hesitation in his answer.

"Yes."

Molly sighed and sat up. They may as well address this before it became prolonged and more awkward. She went to the sitting room, leaning on the doorframe with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

"Hi," she said listlessly. Sherlock didn't alter his gaze or his hands, which were steepled under his chin.

"Hi."

Molly shifted her weight to her other foot.

"Listen, Sherlock," she began. "Last night - "

"It's fine." Sherlock interrupted her and Molly's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"It's fine. What happened last night is fine."

Molly was taken aback by such a reaction from Sherlock. She appreciated his acceptance of it but she felt responsible.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to drink so much but my day was rubbish – beyond rubbish, really – and I went out for a drink but … "

Her voice trailed off. She didn't exactly want to share what had actually happened.

"You were on a blind date," Sherlock corrected. "And you were rejected, flat out. You realized he was disappointed with your breast size and that he thought you were not beautiful."

Molly's face was very quickly turning red.

"But … what? How did you … "

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Selfridges bag with the packaging for breast enhancers and enough make-up to fill the drawer in the bathroom. Hardly a difficult deduction."

"You went through my shopping?"

"I cleaned up your shopping after you dropped it on the floor last night." Sherlock amended. "After he rejected you, you decided to go out for a drink on your own and see who you could attract with your new-found beauty."

Molly's face was beet red now.

"As the hours passed, no one even batted an eyelash and you, quite literally, drowned your sorrows."

Sherlock finally turned to look at her.

"And I was foolish enough to drink with you when you came home last night and that is how you and I ended up having sex."

Molly felt her eyes welling with tears.  
"Sherlock, I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"It's fine." Sherlock's gaze had reverted back to the wall; his fingers resumed their praying position. Molly took this as her cue to leave and she went back to her bedroom, curling up on her bed again. Today was not a good day.

* * *

The next morning was incredibly awkward but Molly had decided she was not going to let what had happened get in the way of her living her life. Soon enough, things began to feel normal again. Sherlock never brought up that night and Molly didn't, either. For a while, it was in the back of Molly's mind but it ebbed away as she became wrapped up in work.

Days turned to weeks.

It was a cold, wet, October day and Molly had just started an autopsy. She was in the middle of cutting the chest when she was overcome by a swell of nausea. She straightened and swallowed, trying to dismiss the feeling but it only grew and she had only mere seconds to get to the utility sink in the corner before throwing up.

Odd, she thought as she cupped her hands under the cool water and took a sip to clear the taste of vomit from her mouth. She hadn't felt ill that morning and now that she had thrown up, she felt fine. Maybe she'd eaten something slightly off. Either way, Molly simply shrugged and went back to her corpse.

The fourth day this happened, Molly knew something was wrong and she made an appointment with her GP. She sat on the exam table, the protective paper crinkling with each movement, and the doctor appeared, greeting Molly more like a friend than a patient. The young pathologist explained what she had been feeling and the doctor dutifully took notes of the symptoms. It was only when she asked about Molly's period did the young woman freeze.

"Molly?" the doctor asked. "Are you okay?"

Molly swallowed.

"Molly?"

"I'm pregnant, aren't I?" she whispered.

"It's a possibility," the doctor said. "But there could be other things causing the nausea. Has your period been regular?"

Molly didn't dare shake her head. Instead she just shrugged and the doctor sighed.

"Alright, Molly," she said. "I'm going to take a blood sample and send it to the lab for a few tests. If you want, you can take a home pregnancy test but the lab will confirm if you are, in fact, pregnant."

Molly nodded and held out her arm when instructed. The doctor took the sample and sent Molly on her way, saying she'd call with the results in the next few days.

Molly went to Boots on her way home, requesting a pregnancy test, and hid it deep within her handbag. It was only once Sherlock was asleep that night that Molly unearthed the test and locked herself in the bathroom.

Waiting for the digitized screen to spit out a result was the worst form of anticipation Molly had ever experienced.

_Pregnant. 6-7 weeks. _

Molly stared at the screen, not believing what she was seeing.

How could this be? She wondered. What would Sherlock say? What would her _mother_ say? Despite having only known she was pregnant for twenty seconds, Molly had already ruled out terminating the pregnancy.

She was having a baby.

Sherlock's baby.

**Okay, don't freak out by this. Yes, Molly is pregnant … no, this is not going to be some sort of Sherlolly fluff story where they raise a baby and live happily ever after. Furthest thing from it, really. Again, thank you for your support. **

**Reviews are always appreciated!**


	3. They Realized (Part II)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi everyone! Thanks, as always, for your support. I've been really eager to update this story and decided it was worth sacrificing some sleep tonight to write a chapter. I hope you enjoy! **

Molly decided to wait until the lab work confirmed her pregnancy before telling anyone. She didn't doubt the result – it all added up perfectly, right down to the unusual desire for beef jerky – but just in case, she decided to wait.

The pathologist got the call from her doctor the next day.

"Congratulations, Molly," the doctor told her. "You are pregnant."

Molly, despite expecting to hear this, sank onto the nearest chair.

"Molly? Are you there?"

"I'm here," she said.

"Are you okay?" the doctor clarified. Molly sighed.

"This wasn't planned. It was an accident in every sense of the word. We were … we were drunk."

She wasn't sure why she was telling this to her GP but it was coming out whether she wanted it to or not. The doctor sensed this pregnancy was not welcome news and proceeded accordingly.

"You have options," the doctor began but Molly interrupted her.

"No. I am _not_ terminating this pregnancy."

"What about adoption, then? You don't have to keep the baby."

Molly sighed again.

"I can't see myself doing that. I'm going to be carrying this child for nine months; I'm going to give birth to it. I can't just give it up."

The doctor sighed.

"Think about it. Talk to someone, if it helps. I'm assuming you took a pregnancy test last night; have you told the baby's father?"

"No." Molly answered in a small voice. She was not looking forward to that conversation but she knew it would have to happen.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Yes."

"Good. You're not alone in this, Molly. There are people to help you – both professional and personal support networks. You don't have to make a firm decision today. Think about it, talk to the father, talk to your parents, siblings, friends, whoever you need to speak with to make a decision you won't regret. How are you feeling now?"

"Physically or emotionally?"

"Both."

Another sigh.

"I'm tired. I didn't sleep very well last night. And nauseous."

"That's to be expected until about week fourteen and then it should pass."

"How many weeks am I?"

"About seven. When you make an appointment with an obstetrician, he or she will go over all of this with you and confirm the dates. How are you doing emotionally?"

"I have no idea." Molly said bluntly. "I'll let you know when I figure it out myself."

"If you have any questions or concerns," the doctor said in a serious tone. "I want you to call me. Do you have a pen? I'm going to give you my pager number."

This was an indication to Molly that her doctor was genuinely worried about her wellbeing and she had to admit it felt nice to have someone care so much. Molly took down the number.

"Thanks," she said.

"I'm serious, Molly. Your wellbeing is my primary concern. Call me if anything is wrong, day or night, doesn't matter."

"I will." Molly promised.

"You'll need to make an appointment with an obstetrician soon for your first prenatal visit. I can send you a recommendation if you'd like."

Molly said that'd be fine – she'd had no need for an obstetrician up till now – and ended the conversation with her doctor. Recognizing the rest of the day would be wasted at work – she was tired, nauseous, and distracted – Molly put her coat on and went home.

* * *

Once home, Molly curled up with a cup of tea and had fallen asleep on the sofa. She woke with a start when the door closed firmly and she heard Sherlock panting.

"Sherlock?" she mumbled, reaching for a lamp. It was dark outside and she wondered what time it was.

"That," Sherlock said, coming into the sitting room and flopping into a chair. "Was exciting."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing of importance," he said. "Or, rather, nothing of relevance for you."

"Oh," Molly said, dropping her head back onto the cushion. Sherlock didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong, or, if he did (and he probably did notice, Molly rationalized), he didn't say anything. On the way home, Molly had decided just to get it over with and tell Sherlock the news tonight. She took a deep breath.

"Sherlock," she began. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Hmm?"  
Sherlock had picked up his laptop and was staring at the screen intently. Molly sighed.

"Uh, there's leftover Chinese in the fridge if you want some."

Inside, she was berating herself for not telling him. Sherlock looked up with interest.

"Thanks," he said, standing. "Want anything?"

"No," Molly said, also standing. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

It took three more days for Molly to get up the nerve to tell Sherlock about the baby. Sherlock was sitting in what had become his chair in her sitting room, fingers steepled as he bored holes into the opposite wall with his eyes.

"Sherlock."

Molly tried to make her voice strong and clear, although she was nervous and her voice was shaking slightly.

"Sherlock." Molly repeated. Sherlock didn't move and she went over and touched his shoulder. He jumped.

"How many times have I told you not to interrupt me when I'm thinking?" he snapped.

"I know, I'm sorry," Molly said, feeling her nerve slip away.

"What is it? You wouldn't have bothered me if it wasn't something important." Sherlock was critically staring at her and Molly bit her lip.

"We … we have to talk."

"We are talking."

Molly sighed and sank onto the sofa.

"We have to talk about that night."

"What night?"

Molly sighed.

"You know what night I'm talking about," she said. "The night we had sex."

"Oh, that night. Dull."

Molly felt like she should be offended by that comment.

"Why are you still worrying about that?" Sherlock continued. "It's over, done with. Move on and find something else to worry about."

"That's the thing, though," Molly said. "It's not exactly over and done with."

She waited to see if this elicited emotion from Sherlock but he just stared blankly at her. She sighed again.

"I'm pregnant."

She bit her lip again as she watched Sherlock's face. It remained impassive for a moment before he broke her gaze and turned back to the wall.

"Impossible."

Molly raised an eyebrow.

"Of course it's possible."

"You must've gotten pregnant by someone else."

"You're the only one."

"You're on birth control."

"That's only ninety seven percent effective."

"We used a condom."

"No, we didn't." Molly said. "We were drunk."

"I don't want it."

Molly was slightly taken aback by the shift. It seemed that Sherlock had gone from being in denial to rejecting the baby outright.

"I'm not killing it."

"It's not alive. It's a fetus."

"It is alive," Molly said. "It's inside of me, developing as we speak."

"I don't want it."

Sherlock's voice had gone into a deep monotone, no emotion breaking through. His gaze remained locked on the wall.

"It's not your decision." Molly dared to say.

Sherlock's head snapped towards her.

"Of course it is. You say it's my child, I can choose whether or not I want it."

"But it's my body and it's only _half_ your child."

"I can't make half a decision." Sherlock snapped.

"I don't want you to," Molly shot back. "Not if your decision is to terminate the pregnancy."

"Then I suppose I'm not making a decision at all." Sherlock said standing. He stalked out from the room, grabbing his coat and letting door close resolutely behind him. Molly pulled her knees up and rested her forehead against them, one hand caressing her stomach.

She burst into tears.

**Reviews are always appreciated, thanks! **

**Also, just a precautionary side note, this is NOT the place to start a pro-life, pro-choice argument and while I don't think anyone will actually try and start one with me (I hope not, anyways), be aware that your message will simply be deleted and ignored. I'm not trying to be rude but I just don't think this is the place for that debate. **


	4. The Terms Were Set

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**In case you haven't guessed, school is back in session and to say that I'm busy is an understatement. I've been trying to write a chapter for over a week now and I finally had time to finish what I had started last weekend. Thank you, as always, for your support via faves/follows/reviews. Your encouragement is always … well, encouraging! I hope to have another chapter up within a week but that *may* be too ambitious … **

Molly wasn't sure what time it was when Sherlock returned but she had cried herself to sleep on the sofa and woke up with a stiff neck. She jumped slightly to see Sherlock sitting stoically in the chair across from her.

"What time is it?" Molly asked, sitting up slowly.

"Four thirty in the morning."

"Why are you still awake?"

"You're on my bed."

"Oh." Molly's voice fell. "Sorry, I'll go back to my bedroom."

"You don't have to."

Molly didn't appear to be listening and stood up, groaning slightly. Pregnancy may be a miracle of nature but she was tired of feeling so nauseous all the time. It was disgusting.

"Good night," she mumbled, shuffling off to the bedroom.

* * *

By the time Molly got up for the second time, Sherlock had not moved.

"Sherlock?" she asked. "Are you alright? It's after ten o'clock and you're still sitting here."  
Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sherlock?"

Still no answer and Molly had learned by now to just let him be; he'd break out of his trance when he was ready. The flat remained quiet until just after twelve.

"Don't keep it."

"What?" Molly asked, looking up from her magazine.

"Don't keep it," Sherlock said. "I don't want it. Neither do you."

"That's not true," Molly started but Sherlock cut her off.

"Yes, it is. You are a smart, beautiful young woman who has no business being tied down by a child."

"Don't go there with me, Sherlock."

"You're the one insisting on carrying the fetus to term!"

"It's a baby," Molly said. "_Your_ baby, if you've forgotten already. I didn't just become pregnant one night by myself; you were there."

"Yes, and I have no business being tied down by a child, either."

"So what?" Molly asked. "What are you asking me to do?"

"Terminate the pregnancy."

"No."

"Why not?"

There was no way Molly would ever divulge the true nature of this answer. Yes, she was facing single motherhood now because she knew Sherlock wouldn't move in or be a serious part of the child's life. But the truth? Molly Hooper had always wanted children but she had always doubted that anyone would ever love her enough to have sex with her. While the prospects of the next seven months were terrifying, not to mention the lifetime that followed, this was a way that maybe, just maybe, she could get a little bit of what she wanted out of life.

"Because," Molly said. "I am not doing it."

"Then get rid of it. Deliver it and put it up for adoption."

"I don't think … I don't think I can do that, Sherlock."

"What _can_ you do?" Sherlock snapped. "You won't get rid of it now before you get emotionally attached but you won't carry it to term and give it away, either. You're not giving me a lot to work with."

"What if I want to keep it?"

"Do you expect me to help?"

"Financially or to be involved in the kid's life?"

"Either."

"You'll be legally obligated to pay child support." Molly said. "You know that."

Sherlock stayed silent.

"But I'd like for the baby to grow up with a father."

"Then I fear you're going to be disappointed."

Molly didn't say anything, but her lower lip was trembling.

"You haven't even seen it yet," she said. "How can you know you won't love it?"

"Love it?" Sherlock repeated. "I've never loved anyone in my life."

"Except John." Molly added softly. Sherlock ignored her statement.

"I will not love this child the way a child deserves to be loved. As far as I'm concerned, it's better not to bring it into the world in the first place."

"I'm going to have this baby, Sherlock."

Molly's voice was quiet but firm.

"I know you don't love me and I don't expect you to start but I hope one day you can look at what we created," Sherlock snorted but Molly continued. "Even if it was an accident, I hope you can look at our child and love it."

Sherlock stood, picking his coat up off the chair where he'd dropped it.

"Listen to me," he said darkly. "I will never love that child and I will never want it. It was a mistake, something created when we did something stupid. It is not fair to give birth to it and expect it to live in a broken family. I'll do what I need to to appease the law but your life will be miserable. Single mothers fall below the poverty line and struggle to support themselves from the moment their child is born. Keeping it is a mistake that will haunt you the rest of your life."

With that, Sherlock turned on his heel and stalked out of the flat. Molly, by the time Sherlock left, was trembling, although her hand was gently resting on her stomach. She looked down at her still-flat belly.

"Don't listen to him," she whispered as the first tears fell. "Mummy will love you and take care of you. You'll be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She sighed and stood up. She felt achy and stiff, like she was coming down with the flu. She wondered if this was a pregnancy thing or a result of sleeping on the sofa last night. As she made her way to her bed, she realized she should probably buy one of those "What to Expect When Expecting" books so she could read up on the pregnancy and how to prepare for the baby.

As she lay there – there was no way she'd be able to get to catch a nap after that conversation – she couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement.

Finally, this was something to make her life worthwhile … to make her count in everyone else's eyes. Yes, she had a successful career but she'd never found that someone to love her – Jim had just been a disaster – and the only person who ever noticed her was Sherlock and that was only when he needed her help.

"I matter when he needs me," she muttered, turning onto her side. "What about when I need him?"

She didn't get an answer of course, but she let her mind drift to what it would be like to have a baby in the flat. She'd have to be creative in finding space, she realized, but she could make it work. It would be cozy but that was alright. Molly hoped it was a girl … they could be the mother-daughter duo taking on the world together, best friends who shared everything and sat up late gossiping and talking about dresses and boys and doing their nails.

She didn't need Sherlock. She didn't need any man.

Despite feeling like she wouldn't fall asleep, Molly dozed off with a determined sentiment running through her mind.

She _could_ do this and she _would_ do this.

**Reviews are appreciated, thanks! **


	5. The Penny Drops

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi, everyone! I know this is WAY past due as far as updates go but if you knew my schedule, you'd be surprised to see a new chapter before Christmas. Thank you so much for all your kind reviews and encouragement in the form of follows/faves! I always love getting feedback on my stories and you never disappoint. Many of you commented that Sherlock was quite cold in the last chapter – that was done deliberately. Fear not, it shall work itself out, as things have a way of doing. I hope you enjoy this chapter - it's mostly narrative but the end (in my opinion, at least) is a doozy! **

The next couple of months were interesting for Molly Hooper. She went to an OBGYN the week following her 'discussion' with Sherlock, who confirmed she was eight weeks along. She gave her pamphlets to read on pre-natal health, maternity leave, as well as some information on the legal aspects of what Sherlock – otherwise known to the public as "the baby's father, who isn't in the picture" would be required to contribute to her baby's well-being.

Around the twenty week mark, Molly found that her clothes no longer fit. Deciding to go on a little bit of a spending spree before the baby came and the budget got tighter, Molly went out for the afternoon. She went by herself, which was more pleasant than she thought it would be; she thought she'd miss having a girlfriend to talk about pregnancy stuff with but no, she was quite content to enjoy her pregnancy experiences and keep them to herself. She'd started a journal, documenting all the weird things that happened to her – the feelings, the sensations, the cravings – as well as the best moments – the first time someone recognized her as pregnant, the first kick, hearing the heartbeat and seeing the sonograms.

And that is how Molly Hooper ended up in MacDonald's one evening, eating her second Big Mac while surrounded by three bags of maternity clothes. She normally despised the fried grease that MacDonald's was famous for but ever since getting pregnant, she'd been there at least twice a week. Her doctor said this was alright – in moderation – as long as her diet was balanced the rest of the time. Molly thought she was doing well and, really, once a craving for some chips or a hamburger came, there was no stopping her no matter what her diet or doctor dictated.

It was dusk by the time Molly unlocked the door and strode into the flat, feeling happy. She decided to try on her new clothes again. She stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, smiling. The pants were alright – the elastic waist band was going to take some getting used to – but she loved the blouse. It completely emphasized her belly, making her look bigger than she was and she loved it. She liked her pregnant body much more than her non-pregnant body, strangely enough.

"Mummy's going to miss having you inside her," she said, turning to view her profile while gently rubbing her belly.

"Molly?" Sherlock's deep voice carried through the flat as he opened the front door. Molly frowned slightly. She and Sherlock had barely talked since she had told him she was pregnant and keeping the baby. It was only strained, polite conversation and only when absolutely necessary.

"Molly?"

"I'm in the bedroom," Molly called back, deciding if he wanted to talk to her, he could walk to see her. The door opened a moment later and Sherlock stuck his head in. Molly saw the thought on his lips disappear as he saw her in the clothes.

Molly smiled and turned so Sherlock better could see how big the bump was getting.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"You look fat."

Molly rolled her eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

"I'm aware."

"It's a baby, Sherlock. I'm not getting fat."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You've put on … " Sherlock studied her carefully. "Twenty pounds?"

"Eighteen."

"That's a lot, for only being halfway."

Molly shrugged.

"The doctor thinks it's fine."

"Whatever. You're still fat."

Molly sighed, her good mood gone.

"Did you need something?"

"What?"

"You were calling me."

"Oh, yes."

Sherlock pushed the door open and stood straight.

"Thank you for all your help," Sherlock said, sounding formal. "But I no longer require your assistance."

Molly frowned.

"Where are you going to go?"

"Home."

"Home?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"You're going back to Baker Street."

"Yes."

"And back to John?"

"Of course." Sherlock's eyes lit up slightly when Molly mentioned John. She knew how much the man missed his best friend.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When are you leaving?" Molly asked, irritation in her voice.

"Oh. Tomorrow morning."

"Fine."

Molly turned back to the mirror to look at her pregnant belly again. Sherlock watched, frowning, but he didn't say anything and closed the door behind him. Molly glanced at the door once she heard it click before going to the side of the bed, sinking onto it – she was just getting used to sitting with a belly that was now getting in the way of sitting properly – and ran her hands over her stomach.

"We'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise we'll be okay."

It was strange. She'd been so mad at Sherlock for the way he was treating her and their child. He was being things that Molly would never dare to even speak out loud, that's how awful some of the names she'd thought of were. And yet, the prospect of him leaving made tears come to her eyes.

Why?

Because he won't change his mind, a voice whispered in her head.

Molly sighed. She would have to come to terms with the finality of the situation. Once Sherlock left, she would truly be on her own. At least when he was living here, there was the slightest chance he'd see her one morning, see the child she was carrying, and realize how much he loved what they'd made.

But not anymore.

He'd go back to John Watson, the only person he truly loved on this planet, and he'd forget about her and the baby. He wouldn't care and he wouldn't change his mind. The idea made Molly sad.

* * *

Sherlock was out of the flat before the sun rose the next morning, too excited to stay a moment longer. He'd left a short note on the table (very short: Thanks. SH.) alongside his key. When Molly woke, she found the note. At one point in her life, she would have kept it but now, she just ripped it up and threw it in the bin.

* * *

The only good thing about Sherlock being out of the flat was that there was now room for baby stuff. Molly decided on another afternoon out – though this one was infinitely more expensive and she skipped the Big Mac at the end of it (she'd be lying if she said Sherlock's comment hadn't changed her eating habits). The morning after, two delivery men appeared with change table, crib, basinet, rocking chair, pram, car seat, playpen, highchair, and a swing. Molly watched as they put everything together – she had decided it would just be easier to pay them to do it rather than try and figure it out herself – and only then did she realize how tiny her flat was. She couldn't afford a larger one, though, so she realized she'd have to make it work.

Once the workmen left, she walked through the flat, looking at how she could arrange things. Some things were obvious; the basinet went in her bedroom, the highchair to the kitchen. The car seat was put in the front closet for now, as was the pram, though they displaced several pairs of shoes. She walked into her small second bedroom, which she was using as an office. It was quite tight but the space had worked well for her desk and the chair and reading lamp in the corner. The closet, however, was packed with things – odd crafts she'd picked up, memory boxes, photo albums.

Molly laid her hands on her ever growing belly as she stared up at it. It seemed like such a large task but with an air of determination, Molly found a step stool and a garbage bag and did a major clean-out. When she was done, she had three bags of rubbish and two piles of stuff on her bed – one to donate and one to buy some good, sturdy Rubbermaid containers for.

As she walked back through the flat, she reconceptualised her use of space. She'd get rid of the chair in her room and put the desk in that corner. The chair in the baby's room would be replaced by the rocking chair and while it would be a tight fit, the crib and change table would fit nicely. In her mind, she thought she might even have room for a small toy chest or bookshelf.

She was all set to start moving furniture and she was about to bend down to move the first chair when she realized that was not a wise decision. This was the one thing Molly hated about pregnancy; she couldn't be as independent as she liked or wished.

With a deep sigh, she pulled out her mobile. Now that Sherlock had returned to John – it had been all over the papers – Molly no longer had to avoid him.

_Can I ask a favour_? Molly texted John. Luckily, he didn't take very long to reply.

_Sure. What's up? _

_I need some help moving furniture. Do you mind? _

_Of course not. Sherlock's out so I can come now, if that works. Or does he need to help, too? _

_No._

That text was sent separately before Molly realized she'd better contextualize her strong answer.

_It's only small things but I can't move them. _

She didn't feel the need to say why, as it was pretty obvious.

_Alright, I'll be there shortly_.

_Thanks_.

Molly sighed, sinking into the nearest chair. At twenty-three weeks, she was beginning to feel the more physical side of being pregnant as the baby constantly grew.

The bell rang a few moments later and she pushed herself up from the chair and went to the door.

"John," she greeted, opening the door. John flashed as smile that seemed to drop when he took in her belly. His eyes flickered back and forth between her face and stomach for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"You're pregnant?"

Molly's forehead creased slightly as she moved aside so John could step in and she closed the door.

"Yes," she said slowly. "You didn't know?"

John's eyes, which had been trained on the baby, glanced back up to Molly's face.

"No, why would I?" he asked, before his face brightened. "Congratulations, Molly."

"Thanks," Molly said, although her voice was cautious.

"How far along?"

"Twenty three weeks."

"You're looking great."

"Thanks."

"I see now why you can't move furniture," John said. "I was a bit confused when you texted me that."

"Uh-huh … John …"

She paused, realizing how uncomfortable this was going to be.

Why did it have to be uncomfortable? her brain argued. Sherlock was the moron who didn't tell his best friend he'd fathered a child.

"Molly?" John asked. "Are you alright?"

Molly swallowed.

"Yes," she said. "But there's something you should know. Come in, sit down."

John, whose smile had been replaced by a worried look, followed Molly to the crowded sitting room.

"Is everything alright?" John asked.

"Yes … no." Molly corrected, sinking into the chair once again. "There's no easy way to say this,"

"Then just put it out there."

Molly took a deep breath, her hands resting on her baby, and she looked John in the eye.

"The baby is Sherlock's."

**Was I right in saying the end was a doozy? **

**Reviews are always appreciated, thanks! **


	6. Molly Gained an Ally

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi everyone! Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Canadians as well to the rest of you! I'm a firm believer of finding something to be thankful for even if it isn't officially Thanksgiving =) I realized yesterday that I haven't updated this story in over two weeks and I'm very sorry about that! My schedule has been … well, yeah. You don't want to know, let's put it that way. Anyways, given that I don't have to go to work due to the holiday, I put a bit of energy into another chapter. I hope you enjoy it! **

John's mouth dropped and for a few, long seconds, he didn't speak.

"John?" Molly asked.

"The baby … _that_ baby… is _Sherlock's_?!" John finally got out. Molly bit her lip and nodded.

"Yes."

"So you were romantically involved."

"That's generally part of making a baby."

"Right." John said. "Sorry, I just can't believe that you're pregnant and that Sherlock's going to be a father. You two will be parents."

"Not together, we won't be." Molly corrected bitterly. John's facial features quickly formed a frown.

"Why not?"

Molly raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you think he hasn't told you I'm pregnant?"

"Oh." John said bluntly. He sighed. "He's told you he doesn't want the baby."

"He's done more than that," Molly said.

"What do you mean?"

"From the moment I told him I was pregnant, Sherlock had constantly told me that I should have terminated the pregnancy, that I'm making a huge mistake in actually having the baby because I won't be able to give it up for adoption, that the only life I'll be able to give a child is one below the poverty line, and best of all, he says he will never love what we created together while _making_ love. How's that for irony?"

Her voice was crass and John felt bad for Molly. He suspected she was putting on this show of pretending not to be hurt by Sherlock's words but really, on the inside, she was sad, scared and, ultimately, alone.

"I'll talk to him. Maybe I can – "

"Don't bother." Molly interrupted. "He's made it perfectly clear where he stands on this baby and if that's how he feels, I don't want him near our child anyways. He's said he'll do what he's required by law but other than that, he wants no contact with either of us."

John sighed.

"He's changed in the past few weeks, Molly," he said. "He's said it himself that he was miserable while living with you – not because you weren't kind … although now I understand why he may have actually meant when he said it – but because he wasn't with me."

"If I didn't know you better, John, I'd say you and he were together."

John sighed.

"I'm getting that a lot these days," he said. "The picture of me punching him in the restaurant did nothing to help that image. The headlines are questioning our," John employed air quotes. "Domestic bliss."

"I saw."

"My point is that he's a different person now. Let me talk to him. I might be able to convince him to change his opinion … or at least talk with you about how to handle the situation in a way that will be better for the baby. Not that I think you'll be a bad mother," John added quickly. "But I think we both agree it would be best if the child had both a mother and a father."

Molly nodded.

"I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't like him to change his mind," she said slowly. "But I have to keep the baby's best interests in mind, as well as my own."

"Of course," John said. "Don't worry; I won't let him hurt you."

Molly smiled bashfully and John grinned.

"Alright," he said, standing. "Let's move some baby furniture."

Molly grinned. John helped her out of the chair and then followed her to the nursery. John glanced around the room, nodding when Molly pointed out where she wanted things.

"It'll be cozy," John said. "But there's nothing wrong with that. Are you going to paint?"

He was eyeing the bland off-white colour of the walls with a look of distaste.

"No," Molly said. "I thought about it but I can't be doing that in my state anymore and I can't afford for a painting company to come in and do it."

"I'll do it," John said.

"What?"

"I'll do it," John repeated. "Come on, get your coat and we'll go to the hardware store. We'll pick out the colours and then I'll paint the room. There's no point in moving furniture in before we paint."

John turned around to see her stunned face.

"What?"

"Why are you being so nice?" she asked in her usual, socially awkward way.

"Because you're my friend," John said. "And Sherlock is being an ass about this. You and the baby deserve someone who will help with things like painting the nursery and moving furniture. I may not be the baby's father but I'll try and help in any way I can."

"Sherlock won't be happy."

"I don't care what Sherlock says. He's wrong about this, plain and simple. You were right when you said you created this baby while making love. That's exactly what it is. It's a miracle, all babies are, and just because it's unfortunate enough to have Sherlock Holmes as its father doesn't mean it has to suffer the consequences. Not if I can help it, at least. So come on, get your coat."

Molly's eyes filled with tears and she stepped over to John, giving him a hug.

"Thank you," she said.

John awkwardly hugged Molly – it was very hard to hug someone who was pregnant – and then stepped away.

"Get ready to go," he said. "I'll meet you outside. I've got a phone call to make."

Molly nodded, wiping her eyes. John left the flat and pulled out his mobile once out on the sidewalk.

"Mycroft? It's John. We need to talk."

* * *

Two hours later, John and Molly returned with four cans of paint (which John carried), two rollers, a pack of brushes, two roles of painters' tape, and a paint tray (which Molly carried).

"I want you," John said once the supplies were sitting in the middle of the room. "To make yourself a cuppa, find a high protein snack, and put your feet up. Watch some telly, take a nap, read a book, whatever you want to do."

"But – "

"Molly." John said in a warning tone and Molly put her hands up in mock surrender.

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything."

Molly left the room and John got to work.

* * *

Six hours later, John let himself back into 221B Baker Street. His jeans and jumper had paint splattered on them (a soft yellow, to be precise) and there were even flecks of paint in his hair.

"You were out a long time," Sherlock said without looking up from his microscope.

"Yeah," John answered absently and Sherlock looked up momentarily, hearing the uncertainty of John's voice, before refocusing his microscope.

"You're covered in paint."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I've been painting."

"Obviously."

"I was painting Molly Hooper's spare room. She's converting it into a nursery."

John's voice was slightly accusing and he waited for Sherlock to respond. When he didn't look up from his work, John felt his anger level rising.

"You fathered her child, Sherlock!"

"I am aware."

"Oh, and that's not something you'd thought to mention to me?"

"It didn't seem relevant."

"It didn't seem _relevant_?!" John exclaimed. "We're talking about a _baby_, Sherlock, an actual _human_ life that you created. How is that not relevant?"

"I have no intentions to be part of that child's life once it is born. I will ensure I uphold my legal responsibilities but I will not be tied down by a child I didn't want."

"You _CREATED_ that child!"

"You said that already."

"Yes, and I'll keep saying it until you recognize that part of you is growing inside Molly right now!"

"I do recognize it," Sherlock answered. "I just don't see why you're making such a big deal out of it."

"It's your _child_, Sherlock. Don't you think you should at least _try_ to love it? It's done nothing wrong."

"I don't want to love it."

"Why should that innocent baby be born to a single mother when its father is literally _blocks_ away? It should not have to grow up not knowing its father, not knowing what kind of a man he is. No, that baby will grow up thinking his father is a coward who's too afraid to step up and be a man and take responsibility for his actions."

John's words were ice cold, though the fire in his eyes spoke volumes. Sherlock's own cold, hard stare finally met John's.

"Listen to me." He said in his emotionless, deep tone. "I did not want that baby. We had sex _one_ time and we were drunk. To say that baby was created in an act of love is a lie. It was created in a moment of foolishness and misjudgment. The only thing I will be to that child is a disappointment because I cannot love something I do not want. It's better off without me."

"No," John argued. "The only reason you'll be a disappointment to that child is because you refuse to even _try_ to love it. Like I said, the only thing that baby will see you as is a coward. A worthless, pathetic coward."

With that, John stomped off to the bathroom to take a shower.

**Oh, problems at 221B! Thank you all, as always for the reviews and follows/faves. They mean so much to me! **

**Again, having a blessed Thanksgiving and find something to be thankful for today! **

**Reviews are appreciated =) **


	7. The Division Grew

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hey, everyone! I'm really sorry about the delay – I don't know how it happens. I intended on updating and before I know it, two weeks have gone by. I'm really really **_**really**_** sorry! But here's another nice, long chapter for you. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you, as always, to those who read/review/fave/follow. **

John had gone back to Molly's flat the next day to do another coat of paint in the nursery.

"It looks great, John," Molly said from the doorway. "I don't know how to thank you for this."

John gave a strained smile.

"It's alright," he said in a tired voice and Molly frowned.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes," John lied. He did not feel like reliving the conversations he'd had with Sherlock yesterday afternoon, or the one from the evening.

"Something's wrong," Molly said. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Really, Molly," John started but Molly's ever-growing bump caught his eye and he found himself staring at it. Molly noticed the eyes fixated on her stomach and she looked down momentarily before looking up at John.

"You told Sherlock."

John nodded.

"Yes."

"I'm assuming it didn't go well."

"No."

Molly sighed.

"I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have put you in that position and – "

"No." John interrupted. "_He_ shouldn't have put _you_ in this position. The bloody git doesn't even have any remorse or seem to care about anything but his bloody experiments or his casework or … " John's voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You don't need to hear this."

"It's alright," Molly said. "Come, take a break. I just put the kettle on. It might help to talk about it."

"I'm almost done this coat," John said. "And then I'll come."

Molly raised an eyebrow, wordlessly saying 'I don't believe you.'

"I promise." John said with a smile. "Just give me half an hour."

Molly smiled a thin smile and left the room. True to his word, half an hour later, John emerged and Molly made him a cup of tea and served him fresh scones with jam and clotted cream.

"Okay," Molly said once the scones were taken care of. "Let's hear it."

John sighed and retold the awful conversation from yesterday afternoon.

"Was that all he said?" Molly asked when John finished.

"No. There was another conversation," John's voice dripped with sarcasm at the word 'conversation'.

"Last night."

* * *

"I don't understand why you're so angry," Sherlock commented absently as John slammed the fridge door shut after putting the milk away. He was tired and sore from painting and making a cuppa to take up to bed with him. Sherlock was still sitting at his microscope.

"It's not like _you_ got her pregnant."

John was already angry and in no mood to talk to Sherlock.

"I know I didn't get her pregnant. You did." John said. "Therefore, _you_ should be the one dealing with this, not me."

"I didn't ask you to deal with it on my behalf."

"But you're not dealing with it yourself."

"That's not true."

John raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, then?"

"I've arranged to pay child support."

"And that is the problem."

"The child will be cared for so what's the problem?"

"_What's_ the _problem_?!" John exploded. "You don't seem to care is the problem. You got her pregnant and that is _your_ child. Do you not comprehend this fact?"

"Of course I do. The biology is quite simple. During coitus, the egg and - "

"Yes, I know all that," John broke in. "But that's _your_ child and _your _responsibility. Caring for a child requires more than a monthly payment of a couple hundred pounds."

"Not according to the law."

"Then the law is wrong! Not everything is black and white, regardless of what you want to think. A child is a lifelong responsibility that requires love and nurturing and guiding."

"All of which the child support can provide. Hence the name _support_. "

"_Not_ from you! A parent is supposed to do those things for their child because they _love_ their child. You don't just pay someone to be a parent for you when you've created a baby by accident. It doesn't work that way."

"It did for my parents," Sherlock said. "And look at Mycroft and I. We both turned out fine."

"If you and your brother are any indication of what happens when there's no parental influence," John said. "Then I'd better warn Molly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"Regardless of your tactless attempt to insult me," Sherlock said coldly. "Your theory is flawed."

"It doesn't seem to be the only thing flawed about this."

"Your theory relies on a parent loving their child," Sherlock said. "And I do not love that child. You keep saying it is a responsibility of a parent to care for their child. I did not ask for that responsibility and neither did Molly. It was her decision to keep the baby and I made it clear to her that if she did, she would be alone. When she decided to carry it to term, she knew what she was getting into and took on the responsibility of being a _single_ parent."

"That doesn't make what you're doing any less despicable," John said. "Molly's bravery and courage does not let you off the hook."

"You sound ridiculous," Sherlock snapped. "She's having a baby, not saving the world."

"She's saving that child's world."

"Dull."

"Dull to you, everything to that child. _Your_ child."

"Would you stop saying that?!" Sherlock exclaimed in a loud voice. It made John jump slightly – Sherlock rarely raised his voice at John, even when he was angry. He tended to internalize rather than externalize his emotions.

"I do not care that I am biologically part of that child. I am removing myself from its life and therefore, I am not its parent."

"You cannot just say you're not its parent." John said bitterly. "You became its parent when you engaged in the sexual act it took to create it."

"I am its paternal father." Sherlock clarified. "But I am not its parent and I will never be. I did not ask you to take care of Molly or take on the responsibility of this child. I am dealing with my mistake according to the law and I'm required to do no more than that."

"I'm not angry because I have to paint a nursery or move some furniture."

"Then why are you angry?"

"Because," John said. "While I knew you are socially tactless, I just found out that my best friend is not the good man I've always thought he was. You're a coward, scared to take responsibility in the _right_ way, not just the _legal_ way."

"And you're an overemotional sod." Sherlock said effortlessly. "But I knew that already."

John set his mouth in a firm line and left the room with his tea. He had never been so angry in his life.

* * *

By the time John had finished his story, Molly was in tears.

"I am," –hiccup – "I am so sorry, John."

"Hey." John got off the sofa and knelt next to Molly's chair. "Listen to me."

Blubbering, Molly glanced down at John.

"This," John said gently. "Is not your fault. You've done nothing wrong. I wasn't kidding when I said you're being brave to do this and I admire how much courage it's taken to keep the baby knowing you'll be a single mother."

Molly's smile wavered and she blushed.

"Sherlock is in the wrong here, not you."

"But now you two are fighting," she said, her tears returning. "And it's entirely my fault. If I hadn't asked you for help yesterday, you never would have known and you and Sherlock would still be friends."

"I would have found out eventually," John said. "You can't hide something like this."

He gave her a grin and Molly laughed.

"No, you can't."

She looked down at her belly fondly.

"I'm still sorry about this," she said. "I feel awful about it."

"You shouldn't," John said. "Sherlock was right about one thing. He didn't ask me to step in here. It was my decision so you shouldn't feel bad about what's happening between Sherlock and I. We'll sort it out eventually – we always do – and the stress isn't good for you or the baby."

"You're too good to me, John."

"No, I'm not." John said. "Every child deserves to have a mother and a father. Ideally, it would be the same father that created them but, well, it doesn't appear that Sherlock is going to step into that role any time soon. It's the least I can do. I don't want to see you go through this by yourself and I'm happy to help in any way I can."

Molly's eyes filled with tears again.

"Will you be there when it's born?"

John didn't answer right away.

"I'm sorry," Molly said a second later, turning red again. "I'm sorry, that just sort of came out. I understand if you don't want to be there and put up with me in labour and see … all of that."

John smiled.

"I would be honoured." He said. "I'll even do birthing classes with you, if you'd like."

"Really?"

John nodded.

"Absolutely." He said. "Come on, get cleaned up and I'll take you and the baby out for dinner."

"You don't have to - " Molly started but John interrupted.

"I know," he said. "I want to."

Molly smiled.

"You are a good man, John Watson."

John simply smiled and helped Molly out of the chair.

It was odd how well this worked out.

Molly was secretly thinking why couldn't it have been _John_ who got her knocked up that night? He would've been an amazing father. And even though it wasn't his child, he was doing everything he could to help Molly. She certainly didn't expect him to move in with her once the baby was born to continue this father-like role but somehow, she knew that he would be present in the child's life as a male influence – someone who would play tea party if it was a little girl, someone to take him to ballgames if it was a boy.

John was thinking how lucky he was to get to play a father-figure. He'd always loved kids but ever since meeting Sherlock, he'd given up the idea of ever getting married and establishing a family. Sherlock scared away any potential girlfriends and the time Sherlock had been gone, John had been too depressed to date. He thought it was a privilege to get to help Molly and watch her stomach grow, knowing that inside of her, a baby was developing. He would get to see the miracle as this little life emerged into the world and he hoped Molly would let him continue to help out once the baby was born.

"Ready?" John asked once Molly emerged from the bathroom. She nodded.

"Ready."

"Then let's go."

"Uh, John?"

"Yes?"

"You're covered in paint."

John glanced down and saw she was right.

"Do you want to grab a shower?" she asked.

"I don't have any clothes here."

"We could stop at Baker Street."

John raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm not scared of Sherlock," Molly said. "I'm angry and hurt but I'm not scared."

John smiled again.  
"If you're sure," he said. "We can stop there, I'll grab a quick shower, and then we'll head out."

"I'm sure," Molly said nodded, although she'd be lying if she said she didn't have butterflies about seeing Sherlock again.

"Okay. Off we go, then."

**First off, I'd like to mention I know it's a bit off-kilter as John and Mary meet while Sherlock is gone but yeah. Fanfiction for a reason! **

**Anyways, thanks for reading and please consider leaving a review. They brighten up my day tremendously!**


	8. There was Peace (Somewhat)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**It's official. I totally suck at updating during the school term. However, at the very end of a four day weekend, I had an inspiration burst and voila! a chapter. I love how it just sorta … **_**happens**_**. It's the magic of writing. Anyways, I'm sorry for the delay, thank you so much for the support, and I hope you enjoy! **

By the time the cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street, Molly was beginning to have second thoughts.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" John asked, glancing over at her pale face. "You can always go have tea with Mrs. Hudson."

Molly shook her head.

"No." she said. "I'm not going to let him scare me. I've – _we've_ – done nothing wrong."

John smiled at her.

"Right."

Still, he glanced back at Molly as he unlocked the door and held it open for her, and again when they were climbing the stairs. Music from Sherlock's violin was drifting down the stairs and John, when they had ascended the seventeen steps, pushed the door open.

Sherlock glanced over but continued playing. John walked in, as did Molly, and it was only then that Sherlock stopped.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" John asked.

"No, thanks."

"Then I'll jump in the shower and we'll head out."

Molly nodded curtly. John glanced at Sherlock as he went down the hall to the bathroom and Sherlock stared at Molly.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly shifted uncomfortably, her hands resting on the baby.

"What are you doing here?"

"John and I are going out for supper."

"Why?"

"Because he asked if I wanted to go for supper and I said yes."

"Obviously. But why is John taking you to supper? You're not on a date."

"Of course not. He's being _nice_."

Molly felt very self-conscious in her maternity top now and she wished she could hide her pregnancy from Sherlock's eyes.

"Keep playing if you want," she said. "I think the baby likes it. It started kicking when we came in."

"Ridiculous." Sherlock said, putting his violin up again. "Fetuses aren't capable of rational thought and therefore cannot equate pleasure with their reflexes."

The music started again, signalling an end to their conversation and Molly sat on the sofa. She looked around the eccentric flat, her eyes finding new details to take in that she'd overlooked the last time she was here. Ten minutes later, John appeared freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a jumper over a collared shirt.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling at Molly. She smiled back shyly.

"Yes."

John held out his hand to help her up and they were almost at the door when the music stopped again.

"John."

Both John and Molly stopped, turning to look at Sherlock.

"Yes?"

"Don't bring her here again."

John felt his proverbial hackles go up.

"_She_ has a name and I'll bring Molly back here if I want to."

"Do _not_ bring her here again. I have no desire to see her or the child she is carrying."

Molly felt her eyes fill with tears, though she tried to stop them from coming. John glanced at her and then back at Sherlock.

"How _dare_ you talk about her that way." He said in a low voice. "The only reason she is carrying that child is because of you."

"She was the one who was drunk."

"You can't get pregnant by yourself." John shot back. "Come on, Molly."

"If I didn't know any better, John," Sherlock said as John ushered Molly towards the door. "I'd say you were _jealous_ of me for impregnating her."

John paused at the top of the steps and then continued down them without a word. Out on the sidewalk, Molly's tears flowed freely and John pulled her into a hug.

"Shh," he soothed. "It's alright, Molly. Don't give him the satisfaction. Forget about him."

"I can't forget about him," Molly sobbed. "Everything about this makes me think of him because this is _his_ child. I can't look in the mirror without being reminded of him."

John sighed.

"It's hard, I know," he said. "But you're strong. You and the baby will be fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

Molly glanced up at John, tears still in her eyes.

"Was he right?" she asked meekly. "Are you jealous?"

John sighed.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," John said. "But no. I think we have a good friendship but I don't think it could be anything else. That being said, I would love to be a father one day and I hope that you'll let me help you as much as you need with this baby."

Molly smiled.

"Of course," she said. "You're already doing far more than you need to. You don't have to do anything, really."

"I know." John said smiling. "Now. I'm starving and I bet that baby is, too. Have you ever been to Angelo's?"

Molly shook her head.

"Then you're in for a treat."

* * *

An hour later, John and Molly were sharing a dessert the menu called Mile-High Mud Pie.

"This is far too delicious to be good for you," Molly said, taking another bite. John laughed.

"It is," he said. "But don't worry about how many calories it has. You're eating for two, you need all the calories you can get."

"I'm not sure that's the case," Molly said. "But it'll work for tonight."

John paused.

"I hope you're not too upset by what Sherlock said earlier."

Molly sighed, twirling her fork in her hands.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt," she said slowly. "But no matter what he says, I am having this baby and it and I will be fine. In my mind, it's his loss."

"It is," John said slowly. "I just don't want it to be too much for you."

Molly smiled.

"I appreciate the concern," she said. "But I'm doing alright. You've been a big help in all of this and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you'll be there for the stuff to come, too. Having someone with you makes it much less scary."

"I'll do whatever I can. Are you done?"

Molly nodded.

"I'm so full," she said, standing. "Ugh, I feel huge."

"Nonsense," John said, helping her into her coat. "You look beautiful."

Molly blushed, and continued to do so as John settled the bill.

"Do you mind if we part ways here or do you want me to see you home?" John asked, once out on the sidewalk.

"I'll be fine," Molly said. "Thank you for dinner. I wish you would've let me pay half."

"Don't mention it." John said, holding his arm out for a cab. One pulled up to the curb and John opened the door for Molly.

"You'll let me know when you've arranged birth classes?" John asked through the window of the cab. Molly nodded.

"Yes. I think there is a class at UCL Hospital starting next week."

"Great," John said. "And I'll be by in a few days to move the furniture, is that still alright?"

"That's fine."

Molly smiled a genuine smile.

"Thank you, again, John." She said. "For everything. I really appreciate it."

John smiled back.

"I know." John said, glancing at his watch. "Okay, I'll see you later. Text me if you need anything."

Molly nodded and the cab pulled into traffic.

* * *

John was dreading going home but he knew he'd have to face Sherlock. Again. Still, he climbed the stairs, listening for the violin and found the flat quiet. He went into the kitchen as saw a note from Sherlock taped to the counter.

_Gone for a few days. Don't touch my experiments_.

Amazed that he at least had the decency to leave a note, John was rather pleased he didn't have to see Sherlock until the end of the week.

As the days passed, John was surprised by two things. First, he was surprised by how often he thought about Molly and the baby. He found himself wondering how Molly was feeling, if the baby was kicking, and so on. Second, he was surprised – and somewhat unsettled – that he was so content that Sherlock was gone, especially so soon after having him back. He thought he'd be anxious about where Sherlock was and if he was coming back but no. No sentiment, no feelings of anxiousness or concern. Rather, it was almost relief.

Of course, however, all good things must come to an end.

* * *

"I felt _so _stupid!" Molly exclaimed as she and John walked down the street after their first birthing class. "It's ridiculous what they have you do to practice, as if that at all prepares you for the real thing."

John laughed.

"You'll be surprised by what you all remember," he answered. "And, don't forget, you'll find your own ways of coping with the pain. These are just suggestions but your body knows what to do and nature will dictate how it all plays out."

"Don't say that," Molly said with a groan. "Nature tells me it's going to hurt."

John laughed again.

"Of course it will hurt," he said. "But you'll be fine and, really, it's all worth it in the end."

Molly sighed.

"Everyone keeps saying that," she noted. "Oh well," she continued, rubbing her belly. "That's still another fifteen weeks before my due date."

"The last three months will be different," John cautioned. "You'll grow a lot more and you'll be uncomfortable."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Molly said dryly, coming to a stop by the tube station.

"I'm a realist."

"I suppose that's fair," Molly said. "And you _are_ a doctor so you should know. Have you delivered any babies?"

"One," John said. "In medical school."

Molly nodded.

"Well, I just need you to hold my hand and feed me ice chips. The midwife can take care of all of the other stuff."

"Deal." John said with a smile. "Same time next week?"

"Yep," Molly said, pulling her Oyster card from her bag. "Thanks again, John."

John nodded.

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." Molly said, turning to go down the steps. "See you."

"'Bye."

John watched her through the ticket gate and then turned to walk the rest of the way home. He climbed the stairs and stopped short when he saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, fingers steeped under his chin.

"Hello, John."

"Sherlock." John said, stepping into the room and taking off his coat. "Good holiday?"

"Fine."

Sherlock's critical eyes studied John.

"You were just at a birthing class."

"Yes. What gave it away?"

"You're wearing a name tag meaning you've been at a function. Your shirt is wrinkled and there's fuzz from a purple sweater on it, so you were out with a woman who leaned against you. Given the fuzz is also along your thighs, the normal range of positions is somewhat limited. Intimate position, then, but your clothes have remained on. Your shoe laces were redone, though, meaning you took your shoes off plus you smell of hospital disinfectant. Put all of that together, you were on the floor, Molly sitting between your legs and leaning against you. She's not due yet, not to mention you were only gone an hour and a half, therefore, birthing class. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was alright." John said, going to put the kettle on. "You should be the one there with her."

"I don't sit on rubber mats on the hospital floor."

"Apparently you don't do a lot of things." John replied coldly and Sherlock sighed.

"Are you going to keep pointing this out to me every time you speak?"

"Yes," John answered. "Because you don't seem to be _getting_ the point."

"I know the point," Sherlock replied. "I'm choosing to disagree with it."

John sighed.

"What do you want me to do? Just leave you alone about it?"

"Yes." Sherlock said simply. "We disagree on the matter. I don't care that you're helping Molly and taking birth classes and all that crap. You can do it if you want to. Just don't make me get involved."

John sighed again.

"I don't like just giving up on it," he said. "That baby needs a father."

"He has one. You."

"I'm not _its_ father. I'm a male who is involved on a paternal level but I'm not its father."

"What's the difference between what you just said and being _his_ father? It's a boy."

"How do you know?"

"The way Molly looked when you brought her over earlier this week."

John rolled his eyes.

"That's an old wives tale." He sighed. "There is a difference and I will prove it to you. But, _for now_," he stressed. "I'll let it go."

Sherlock nodded.

"Good."

"On one condition."

"What?"

"You at least be semi-nice to Molly when you see her. You don't have to make a point to see her but don't be a total arse when you do."

Sherlock sighed.

"Dull."

"Deal?"

"Fine."

"Good. Tea?"

"Yeah."

**So a semblance of a peace treaty has occurred at 221B. **

**Is John happy? No. **

**Is Sherlock? Can anyone tell if Sherlock's ever happy when he doesn't have a case? **

**I'll do my best to update as soon as possible but, really, I can't make any promises. **

**Thanks for your support and please review!**


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